


Alarm

by Beth Harker (Beth_Harker)



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Gen, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-30 04:42:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17217182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beth_Harker/pseuds/Beth%20Harker
Summary: Modern college AU.  Davey sleeps through class.





	Alarm

The flying lobsters were coming. They were attacking the city of New York, and everything that Davey held dear. Sarah had managed to tame one, but Les was captive, and Jack was either dead or transformed into one of them. For weeks now high repetitive buzz of warning sirens had pervaded the air, mingling with the unholy chorus of shrieking lobsters.

Davey sat bolt upright in bed with a gasp, and threw his pillow across the room. He’d had a cold for the last week, and NyQuil always gave him strange dreams, but this had to take the cake. He ran a hand through his sweaty hair, trying to keep it from sticking up the way it always did in the morning, and then a new sense of dread came over him.

It was light out! Light! He’d set his clock for four in the morning, hoping to finish up an English paper that he was unwittingly procrastinating on. His dorm should have been filled with nothing but darkness and winter gloom. Never had bright sunshine been such an unwelcome sight. 

He stumbled over to his desk to turn off his still blaring alarm. It was four o'clock alright… four o'clock PM. How could he have done this?

His books were spread out on his desk near his alarm clock (he’d put it far from his bed to make the snooze button less appealing). His history homework was beyond finished, because in some stroke of stupid enthusiasm he’d spent hours doing a project on the Newsies strike of 1899 that wasn’t even due for another two weeks (that would give him time to weed out any ridiculous, cold medicine induced rhyming couplets. Really, he was so out of it lately that he was surprised he hadn’t made up imaginary tap-dancing routines for the striking newsies). His math homework was about seventy-five percent done, and conveniently tucked into his history book. As for his English paper… Well, he’d missed class, and the thing was worth twenty percent of his grade. Surely the teacher would never believe that he hadn’t missed class on purpose, searching for an unearned extension.

He’d never missed a class at school yet, and struggled the whole term not to miss a single piece of homework. He hadn’t meant to become an actual human disaster, and yet here he was, wondering if he should at least try to make it to his 4:15 French lab, if he should start drafting e-mails to his professors, and whether or not he had a fever.


End file.
